please stay forever
by symphonies of you
Summary: "She really does not know how she, the slob, is best friends with a boy always impeccably dressed in the latest men's styles with an ever-present smirk on his aristocratic face. He must look like an original Picasso compared to her amateur painting self." - ROSE/SCORPIUS, round twelve for qlfc. One-shot.


**FOR**: the quidditch league forum competition - round twelve: _write about your OTP forgetting something important._

**PROMPTS**: madman / "Keep looking at me like that, I dare you / _JAMES DEAN AND AUDREY HEPBURN_ - Sleeping with Sirens

**PAIRING**: rose weasley/scorpius malfoy.

**WORDS**: 2,826.

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/

_I can't imagine being anywhere else but here_

_How the hell did you pick me?_

/

She wakes up to an incessant series of taps on her misted window. Blinking through tired eyes, she makes her way as best as she can with a hazy vision blurred around the edges towards her window to let the impatient hooting owl into her cluttered bedroom.

"Hello, York. What has your idiotic master gotten himself into now?" she mutters while untying the carelessly rolled-up letter from the Snowy owl's outstretched leg.

_Oi Rose,_

_Forgot that it's Mother's birthday today. Help me pick something out? _

_I'm not apologizing for waking you up from your much-needed beauty sleep. It's not like sleep can improve that nest you call hair, anyways._

_-S. Malfoy_

Rose scowls at rolls her eyes at yet another example of his horrid habit of forgetting important dates. Honestly, when will that twat learn that the people who have bothered to stick around in his life should be put up on a pedestal for putting up with him?

Merlin help her. Yes, she _is_ rather fond of him – no, not in that way, definitely not – because he (unfortunately) happens to be her best friend, even if he is an ignorant, insolent, self-serving, sarcastic jerk most of the time.

She hastily scrawls a nearly illegible response on a spare piece of yellowed parchment that she finds lying atop the unforgivable muddle of disarray that she calls her desk.

_Scorpius,_

_Remind me why I put up with you again? Be at my place at nine._

_-R. Weasley_

"I don't know how you put up with him. You must've been a saint in a past life," she promptly tells the owl and, as expected, gets nothing but an unblinking stare in response.

Well, it's in the dead middle of a sweltering summer with the wretched sun relentlessly beating down on their poor backs, and it's probably about time to wear something that she wouldn't normally be able to on London's typically rainy days.

Rummaging through her wardrobe and casting unwanted items out across her wine-stained (thanks to your resident blonde git, of course) carpet floor, she crows triumphantly when she finally spots her midnight sky summer dress peeking out from behind the hopeless mass of over-sized jumpers and sweats that she owns. Snatching the dress from its coat hanger, she flings it onto her bed and makes her way over to the just-as-cluttered bathroom connected to her bedroom.

You see, Rose Weasley isn't your normal, nineteen-year-old girl who fawns over artificial, unnecessary fanfare like makeup or knee-high boots with six-inch heels or the baffling idea of seducing a boy. Nah, she's the girl with one too many freckles and reading glasses and a bossy albeit snarky sort of attitude. During the weekend, she throws on the first thing she sees in the morning, even if it's one of her five hundred Weasley sweaters, and some sweats with her only aim that day being to laze around and maybe do something productive besides reading a brilliant novel.

She really does not know how she, the slob, is best friends with a boy always impeccably dressed in the latest men's styles with an ever-present smirk on his aristocratic face. He must look like an original Picasso compared to her amateur painting self.

Huh. Now that she thinks about it, it truly is a wonder that he hasn't forced her to visit a makeup artist or shop at one of the classy clothing shops that his mother shops at. Scorpius is just as much of a control freak as she is, and it must take all of his self-control and self-restraint to refrain from putting her under the Imperius Curse and making her do those silly things against her will.

Ah, the dress will show him that Rose Nymphadora Weasley can dress quite nicely, thank you very much.

She groans when another flurry of tapping strikes her window, interrupting her while she is in the middle of brushing her teeth. Walking back into her bedroom, she just about yanks the window open, nearly popping the hatch off with the whirlwind of her irritation.

Oh, the woes of being woken up much too early on a _Saturday morning_.

_Because you love me, Rose. Right, I'll be over in five._

_-S. Malfoy_

(Love? He doesn't mean…what kind of love? Merlin, why do boys have to be so confusing?)

Sodding hell, five minutes? She may be a slob, but she's most definitely a girl and all girls need more than five minutes to brush their teeth and their hair and eat a proper breakfast! And Merlin knows she loves a hearty breakfast.

And _Scorpius _knows that she'll be in a rather foul mood if she doesn't get one.

She runs around her flat like a madman, or rather a _madwoman_, scrambling to fix herself a good breakfast with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. And she swears like a born sailor when she realises that she is still in her comfy pyjamas, hurtling back into her bathroom to rinse her mouth, snag her dress off her bed and proceed to change in the kitchen.

Ha, if her mother could see her now…she'd probably rant for a solid two hours before fainting. Rose honestly doesn't know how she, the messiest person on the planet, can be related to Hermione Weasley, the most organised person on this planet.

(Remind her to clean up her place the next time that her mother decides to visit.)

She's still in the middle of changing and cursing her best friend and her horrible on-and-off relationship with time when she is greeted with the unwelcome sound of rapping on her door. Taking the wards off her door and unlocking it with a simple _Alohomora_, she yells, "Come in, you prat!"

Rose doesn't blame him for taking a double take when he notices her half-dressed with her dress mostly on. It's probably the first time that he's seen her sporting decent hair and donning something presentable.

When she's finished sliding the spaghetti straps of her dress onto her lightly-freckled shoulders, she looks up to see him ogling at her never-before exposed form. She has seen him, many times, unabashedly check out other girls worth looking at, but never did she think that he would once look at her like that. Oh god, why is there a strange, fluttery sensation purging her empty stomach?

The thought of her poor, starved stomach brings her back to reality, a black-and-white sort of reality in which Scorpius Malfoy simply does not check out Rose Weasley.

"Keep looking at me like that, I dare you. And I'll hex your balls off and you won't be able to walk straight and get a proper present for your mother. _Eyes, Scorpius!_" she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest area and blushing at the staring being executed by his stupid (nice) grey eyes, which have stopped at the sight of her boobs.

(She can't deny that a pleased sort of sensation has settled at the bottom of her stomach.)

"Sorry, couldn't resist. You look good, Rose," he smirks.

She splutters, clearly at a loss for words, a rare situation that Scorpius takes advantage of because it's unlikely that he'll get to render the queen of wit speechless ever again. When she is finally able to formulate some form of a clever response, he casually notifies her that her breakfast is about to burn before she can speak. Scowling, she rushes over to the stove and switches it off, scooping the eggs and heavenly strips of bacon onto a plate.

When she turns back around to move her plate to her breakfast table, she notices that he's smirking for a suspicious reason unbeknownst to her.

"What are you smirking at _now_?"

"Oh, just admiring your backside. Tell me, are you planning on stripping for me today?"

"Of course I was. Would you also like to strip so that we can match on our lovely outing to Diagon Alley today? Zip me up before I actually remove your bloody genitals!" she snaps, flushing once again.

Rose turns back to face her mouth-watering breakfast and spoons some of it into her mouth while noting the tell-tale creak in the slide of his chair against the tiled kitchen floor as he gets up to appease her demands. The moment that his fingers touch her bare skin, an overwhelming shudder of pleasure runs down her spine, leaving her burning and flaming like a bonfire sparked by the faintest strike of flint against wood.

She coughs to disguise the sigh that nearly escapes. Oh god, he never would've let her live it down if it did. The speed at which he zips the back of her dress up is tantalizing slow and depressingly heart-stopping, as if he is torturing her with the clandestine knowledge of the effect of his mere touch on her. Holding her breath, she squeezes her eyes shut because the one hand supporting the small of her back is massaging tiny circles into the smooth indents of her spine, and the perplexing flurry of thoughts and feelings and questions are too much to take in.

He really is horrible. And he knows it.

"All done. It's a shame, we would have made a lovely addition to Diagon Alley's streets as strippers," he muses.

She raises an eyebrow. "If we happened to run into your innocent mother, I think you would perish the thought."

"I reckon you're probably right, as usual," he pouts with mock disappointment.

Nodding in agreement with the fact that she's always right, she scarfs down the remaining bits of her breakfast, rinsing and drying the plate with a few cleaning spells before sticking it in the cupboard.

"We shall be going now," she announces.

"Finally," he mutters under his breath, following after her.

…

"Right, so any ideas, Scor?" she inquired while walking down the bustling streets of the side of Diagon Alley that reeked of high fashion and exquisite jewellery.

"No anklets like last year. You know Mother - she likes showing her jewellery off," he mutters.

"A necklace wouldn't be too troubling, would it?" she suggests, crossing her fingers in hope of affirmation.

"Cliché but safe," he ratifies, confidently striding in the direction of the most expensive jewellery shop.

Following him into the shop, she marvels at the breath-taking display surrounding her once she steps inside, wide-eyed at and blatantly awed by the glittering abundance of jewellery. She stands frozen and unable to move as she takes in the silver and gold encrusted jewels adorning the multitude necklaces and bracelets and rings.

"Quit gawking, Rose. Let's find something nice and get out of here," he reprimands, shocking her back into remembering their joint goal.

She quickly nods, pursing her lips and walking around the display cases with a hint of a definite purpose marking her stride while Scorpius investigates the other side of the shop. If she remembers correctly, Astoria doesn't particularly care for garnets or sapphires, labelling them ordinary and common.

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she smiles to herself as she sees him pointing at different pieces of jewellery and criticising them with no one but himself to listen to his disapproval. Scorpius Malfoy can be rather endearing at times, times when there's no one watching with the exception of your resident ginger creeper.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a simple yet beautiful necklace fitted with three emeralds and coupled with corresponding earrings fashioned into the appealing likenesses of teardrops. She calls Scorpius over to her part of the shop and gestures at the set that she has found, not bothering to mask her obvious excitement.

"Look, aren't these just _perfect_?"

"Of course they're perfect. They're Slytherin colours."

"Well, your mother loathes garnets, so I couldn't exactly pick out a necklace set with my House colours now, could I?" she retorts, immediately protective of her old House.

"Relax, Gryffindor, I'll go pay for it now," he replies, brushing her arm slightly as he scoops up the necklace and earrings to bring them to the counter.

The six thousandth shiver of the day, expected yet unexpected, runs down her tingling spine.

(She swears that she isn't usually this pathetic.)

Once he's finished paying for the pricey gift, he heads over to where Rose is standing outside the shop with her back to him and he cheekily blows a raspberry on the back of her neck. When she turns around, she stares at the blonde idiot, who's chuckling at the flustered, confused expression encompassing her face.

"You're not flirting with me, are you? You'd better not be because I refuse to pretend to be one of your airheads in public."

He scoffs. "Of course not. Why would I flirt with someone like you when you're practically a hybrid animal with that lion's mane and those spots all over you?"

She blinks. Well, that hurt more than it should have. She's used to his snide remarks upon her less than flattering appearance, but this one hurt an inexpressible amount for some unfathomable reason.

"You're one to talk with your albino skin and practically white hair, Malfoy."

"Ah, are we going by surnames again? Classy, Weasley, just like our parents."

"I suppose I'm just bitter that we're both anomalies in society with our freakish physical qualities and whatnot. And I'll take the 'classy' comment as a compliment, thank you very much."

"You're welcome, love. Now, are we going to be standing out here all day? You know how my skin burns easily under the damn sun," he whines.

"Sorry, forgot about your vampire skin. Shall we grab some coffee and scones?" she sarcastically replies.

"Of course. Off to Rema's we go!" he dramatically proclaims, frogmarching her the whole way there with the accompaniment of her laughter.

…

Ten minutes later, they're happily munching away on blueberry scones and sipping their cups of plain black coffee at a table for two by the window.

And she honestly can't be any happier because right here with Scorpius is the best place to ever be.

But the question is, why does someone as brilliant and admittedly good-looking as Scorpius bother to stick around with someone like her? And she proceeds to ask him just that.

He frowns. "Why _wouldn't _I want you around? Sure, you're spotty and ginger, but you're the only one who can keep up with me. The world's full of brainless apes who call themselves human beings, and we're the last two intellectuals left. And it doesn't hurt that you always manage to help me get my shit together, yeah?"

Rose is sure that she's wearing the largest, most genuine grin that she has ever worn, and on impulse, she leans over to kiss his cheek.

"Thanks, you're officially my favourite person on this planet!" she exclaims, not noticing the faint smidge of pink colouring the marble tops of his cheekbones.

He raises an eyebrow. "Haven't I always been?"

"Nah, it's always been Uncle Harry."

"I'm horribly offended. Are you serious?"

"Nope. You've been my favourite, but now you're _officially _my favourite."

"You're a strange girl, Rose."

"And you know you still love me despite my strangeness," she grins.

"And you're right, as usual," he grins back, reaching over to ruffle her curls.

(He knows not to make a bigger mess of her hair than it already it is. Or, at least he _should_ by now.)

She rolls her eyes at his supposedly affectionate gesture, checking the vintage clock resting on the wall in front of her for the time. Huh. Doesn't Scorpius have lunch with his mother on her birthday every year?

"Don't you have lunch with your mother on her birthday every year?" she asks, smirking when she watches the panic ignite in his eyes.

They down the last drops of their coffee and dash out the door.

He sighs. "Thank you for being my faithful Remembrall as usual."

"It's my job, isn't it? And don't forget my birthday next week, or I'll seriously hex you."

He laughs a little, and she smiles down at her feet, feeling awkward for some reason. There's an awkward, somewhat tense silence that seems to last several centuries. Merlin, they've never had an awkward moment before. Why the bloody hell is it happening now? He should be leaving before his mother scolds him for his lateness!

She's about to offer an awkward goodbye when he suddenly brushes his lips against hers before Apparating on the spot.

Rose raises a trembling hand to her mouth, touching her lips and reliving the sudden kiss in her mind, and stands there for probably about ten minutes before Apparating back to her flat.

That night, the last thing that she sees before drifting off to sleep is his face.

/

_I lay in my bed awake at nights_

_And I'll fall in love_

/

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**A/N**: This is supposed to be one of my lighthearted fics with a dash of humour and fun, not beautifully well-written or eloquent or anything. Forgive me if this doesn't tickle your fancy.

And if you liked it, please don't favourite without reviewing! =)

-nic.


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